Pack
by Lennox13
Summary: Scott and his pack form a weave of incredible power - a character study of sorts. (A repost.)


**A/N: This being reposted from a story a few years ago. I have edited it a bit and decided to repost. **

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He had never been a normal teenager. And neither has he been, by any means, a normal werewolf.

Now, he was even more abnormal. A true alpha, in every sense of the word. He rose to the top by sheer force of will and claimed the title that was his right. He had the eyes of an alpha, but still the heart of that innocent boy who had stumbled around that fateful night in the middle of the woods, helplessly, searching for his inhaler.

Yes, he wasn't as naïve anymore and he now knew things that made the dark all the more terrifying, but there was one thing that still stayed the same. The constant variable that ruled all else, as his best friend would say. His loyalty and compassion towards the people in his life.

Stiles was not a wolf. Stiles wasn't even supernatural, but he was part of Scott's pack. Since that very first moment that the lycanthropy had started to spread through his veins, the wolf inside of him had recognised Stiles as a brother - as pack. Stiles was without a doubt his best friend. Through all of the ordeals, their friendship remained. Stiles kept him sane amidst the surreal situations that he now called life. Stiles was his beta and nothing would ever change that.

If he focused, concentrated really hard, he could feel them all. Feel those that he had 'adopted', for lack of a better word. Like strings, they pulled him forward, backward, towards them. Attached to his mind and his heart. His pack was integrated into his very soul. A delicate weave that needed some patching, but not strengthening.

No, his pack was strong. Unbelievably strong. Even more so in its diversity.

The more wolves in a pack, the stronger the alpha. If he wanted to, he could tug on those strings and pull strength from his pack. He could move mountains with the potential strength at his fingertips.

He preferred not to use it. He believed in free will. Sometimes, though, he would feel a trickle of comfort from Stiles, a rebuking thought from Lydia, a shove of self-control from Isaac.

And he would give back. As much strength as he could muster, he would pass through these delicate connections because he needed them. He needed them as much as he needs to breathe.

They were there for him, night and day. They would race to him if he called. They would give their lives for him. He knew that. But, then…. Why couldn't he keep them safe, though? Why couldn't he keep them together?

Allison was gone. She had been his first love. She had been his anchor. Her smile, her laugh, her strength… it was gone. He could feel the missing piece of his pack, that vibrant purple, like a gnawing hunger in his heart. He still loved her. More than he was willing to admit. Kira had healed his broken heart, and Allison and Isaac had connected over their losses. He might have been jealous, initially, but when he felt their happiness radiating through the alpha's bond, he didn't care anymore. They were happy; he was happy with them.

He missed her. More than he could express in words.

Aidan was gone. He couldn't say that he had really liked the hothead if he was forced to be honest in the wake of the werewolf's death. His violent urges and the unsatiated bloodlust that constantly boiled beneath the surface made Scott wary. His brother was his anchor, and Ethan was the complete opposite.

Ethan was the initial reason why Scott had accepted the bright blue strings of the twins. He allowed them to latch onto his heart and they became a part of his pack almost immediately thereafter. Stiles didn't trust them and Scott respected Stiles' opinion above all else, but the strings were so lonely. He couldn't deny them the redemption they sought. He accepted them and they taught him things without meaning to.

When Aidan had died in his brother's arms, Scott wanted to scream. The pain radiating through their link was unimaginable. The pain coming from Ethan was unbearable. It was all Scott could do, to keep that pain from spilling through to the other members of his pack.

He still wished that he could have gotten there sooner. If only he had gotten there sooner, he might have been able to save them. Do for Aidan what Derek did for Cora. He would have gladly given his very soul to keep just one of his pack alive.

Lydia was a Banshee. Surprise, surprise…. She didn't really live up to the legends! Her powers were strong, her intelligence immeasurable and her sharp tongue had no defence. She sometimes irritated the hell out of him, but she was a part of his pack. Now more than ever. At least she was still there. She and Stiles were the only members left of his original pack, and he could feel the protective orange that tasted of her and matched her fiery hair, wrapped tightly around his heart. Along with Stiles, they only part of his original 'clique' remaining, as Stiles had once jokingly called it. The pack that was his, before he became a rightful alpha.

Isaac was gone. Not dead, just gone. He had left with Chris, who seemed a startling violet, to who knows where. They needed space, he understood that, but it still hurt to feel the connection stretching so thin. Isaac was the first official werewolf in his pack. A yellow string that bound itself to Scott, almost as close as Stiles. When exactly that had happened… he had no clue, but the absolute strength and loyalty ingrained in the bond between alpha and pack had surprised him. The loyalty, especially, which felt like steel, almost genetic in its rigidity.

He missed Isaac. The lanky werewolf's negativity was a pain, but his dry sense of humour always kept Scott on his toes. He always had to stifle the urge to laugh when Isaac pitted his dry comments against Stiles' sarcastic retorts. He could still feel him and knew that he was safe, but the uncomfortable tightness in his chest wouldn't disappear.

Jackson, the son of a bitch, had also caused a piece of twine to pull taught by moving to London. He was glad to get rid of the bastard, but there was no denying the fact that he was still in Scott's pack. A bright green string – it seemed appropriate. Despite the mutual dislike that tinged the connection, he could sometimes feel the lonely tug from so far away. Jackson was not an omega, even if he had convinced himself of that. There was a reason why the other werewolves in London let him be. They could sense the pack behind the jerk of a werewolf and knew that it held a strength not to be messed with.

He also knew Jackson and Danny still kept in contact, just like he knew that Danny _knew_. He didn't push, though. He knew how difficult it could be to accept the supernatural. Not to mention the fact that as soon as everybody knows that you know, you become an immediate target for the dark. He wouldn't hesitate to include Danny into his pack. He had helped them so many times, without even knowing it. He also had this sense of gravity surrounding him that could not be denied and fit so perfectly within a pack dynamic.

Danny's involvement with Ethan also pulled him closer. Navy… why? It felt right. He identified with the colours almost like how he would highlight his summaries to remember them better. Although, his pack was probably the one thing that he would never forget.

Derek. The one name brought a lot of contradicting feelings to mind. Derek hadn't been the best alpha, but there was no denying the fact that he was good. He made mistakes, a lot, but he cared for the pack that he so briefly had. Scott saw him as an older brother, an infuriating older brother. That's what Derek had said, right? _We're brothers now_. It felt like a lifetime ago, but now the statement rang truer than ever.

He often didn't know if he could trust Derek. Derek had betrayed him too many times but made up for them ten times over. Deep down, Derek's heart was indisputably good. He protected his family, those that were left, and through Scott, he was learning that family didn't always mean blood.

Derek was hurting; the pulsing red of their bond conveyed that hurt. He could feel it, uncertain as their bond was. He missed Cora, and Scott could feel that too. As brief as their interactions were, Cora was as much a part of his pack as Derek. It was through Derek, that Cora had become pack.

Boyd and Erica, two more missing puzzle pieces. He wished that he had known them better. He wished that he had been able to protect them and led them on the right path. He wanted to inspire them like he did Isaac, but once again he failed. He had liked Boyd. He had a soft heart that hid beneath the skin of a giant.

Erica, he had known she would be a part of his pack one day. He had known since that day that he had felt her epileptic fit before it had happened. He wondered how it worked, but unfortunately, a true alpha appeared only every hundred years or so. This, unfortunately, did not include a handbook or mentor. Not even a measly brochure. Stiles had been disappointed when he found out about that particular detail.

His mom, Melissa McCall, was the strongest woman he knew. Without her, he would have given up on the first day of school. She gave him shelter and love. He would have died when the asthma attacks had wrecked his body. She gave him the strength to continue. Without her, he wouldn't survive. She had given him the virtues that he used as the foundation for his pack.

Her initial rejection of his… problem had been like a punch to the gut. For weeks, he felt as if he couldn't breathe because, despite the rejection, their bond remained. Now, she was fine with it. In fact, she was one of their greatest assets in fighting the creatures that lurked in the shadows. He loved her more than ever and the bright pink of her presence was more like a blanket than a string.

Deaton was his pack's emissary. He imagined that he was only scratching the surface when he called Deaton a guide. Deaton was a strange man, with a strange purpose, but Scott trusted him. He was the father figure that Scott had only ever glimpsed in that of the Sheriff. He knew that the vet, with all of the answers, and all of the secrets, would always have a way out. The number of times that he had saved their lives were… he'd lost count. Deaton saw the beauty in the beast and every time Scott helped heal a poor animal, he couldn't help but smile. Whenever he used his ability to take pain, he wanted to grin through it, because he might be a monster but he could also be a hero.

The newest member of his pack was a kitsune. A kitsune. Yes, he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that Kira was an immortal fox that could create thunder and lightning. At least, that's what he got from the one picture book she showed him. Her mother might not like it, but Kira's silver string was wrapped around his heart. She was part of the pack, and everyone recognised her as such.

Oh, he'd almost forgotten about Malia! What a strange girl, but then again who was he to judge? At least she had a reason for her somewhat weird behaviour. Coyotes didn't really need social etiquette.

He was helping her with control. He felt a sense of pride every time she got something right. He also felt a sense of wonder whilst doing the same thing that Derek had done for him so long ago, for another. She was a fast learner and a great addition to the pack. Her awe at the world and her fresh perspective on life added a tinge of gold to their lives. A rosy glow over the darkness that had spread with the taint of the Nogitsune.

There were the good and the bad, and that was how it should be. Deaton had told him that nature always went back to the middle. Deaton's sister had constantly preached to him about balance. _Regression to the mean._ No matter how dark it got, things would always get better. You just have to have the strength to wait for the new dawn.

And so, he threw back his head and howled.

He howled for the dead. He howled for the lost. He howled for the damned and the departed. But most of all, he howled for the living members of his pack. He howled a promise that he would protect those that placed their trust in him. He would fight for them until his very last breath. He would protect them from what was coming, no matter what.


End file.
